


Hogan's Detective Agency

by BitsAndPieces



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitsAndPieces/pseuds/BitsAndPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Postwar, AU. What do spies do after the war? They open up a detective agency!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogan, PI

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters of this story were originally written for the Short Story Speed Writing Challenge, held annually on fanfiction.net for the Hogan's Heroes fandom. I decided to post them together here, since they are part of a continuing series, and plan to add more chapters in the future.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters. I just like to write about them.

A full-grown man in the grip of uncontrolled panic is not a pleasant sight. I should know – I've seen it many times. My name is Robert E. Hogan, and I'm a private investigator.

Of all the panic attacks I've witnessed, the worst – by far – happened just yesterday. I was closing in on the suspect of my latest case, when…

Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. Like I said, the name's Robert E. Hogan, and I run a detective agency out of an office right here in the middle of Chicago. Not by myself, mind you, I've got four men working for me; James Kinchloe, Louis LeBeau, Peter Newkirk and Andrew Carter. We were spies together in the war, you see, and what better job for former spies, than private investigators?

Anyway, a week ago, I was sitting at my desk, practicing my origami (business had been a bit slow) when there was a knock on the door and Newkirk entered.

"Yes, what is it, Peter?" I asked somewhat irritably, while cramming my paper swan quickly into the top desk drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Yes, sir, well, I just thought you should know, there's a woman here to see you."

"There is?" I replied, curious now. I noticed a grin immediately form on Newkirk's face.

"Yes, sir, and I think she wants to hire us! A real good- lookin' bird she is, too."

I was out of my chair before he finished talking. _At last, a client!_ I grabbed my suit jacket, which had been draped over the back of my chair, and put it on. "Well, don't just stand there, show her in!" I told him as I was straightening my tie.

"Yes, sir!" Newkirk replied, enthusiastically.

He was halfway out the door, when I called out, "Oh, and Peter, cut the 'sir' bit, will ya? I'm not a colonel, anymore."

He stopped and turned to look at me, a sheepish expression on his face. "Yes, sir, I mean, uh, Colonel, uh, I mean, uh, Mr. Hogan."

I rolled my eyes and inwardly sighed. "Peter, just call me Rob…okay?"

"Yes, sir, sorry sir, I mean, sorry Rob," Newkirk stammered, "Old habits, you know…"

"Yes, I know." I smiled and waved my hand in dismissal.

After he'd gone, I opened the side desk drawer and took out the tin of Altoids that was sitting on top. I opened it and popped one into my mouth; then brushed off my jacket and stood up straight, facing the door. A few minutes later, Newkirk returned with the prospective client. He opened the door, and gestured for her to enter first.

I nearly choked on what was left of my Altoid as she entered the room. Peter was right; I've seen my share of gorgeous dames over the years, but this one took the cake. Fiery red hair, cascading in curls past her shoulders, hour-glass figure, killer legs, ample…well, you get the idea. When she saw me, she smiled and began to walk over to me.

Suddenly my knees felt weak.

She stopped an arm's length in front of me. "You must be Mr. Hogan," she said, her voice low and sultry.

"Yes!" I squeaked out; then cleared my throat and replied in a deeper voice, "Yes, I'm Robert Hogan. What can I do for you, miss…?"

"Just call me Honey."

_Perfect._ "All right, Honey, what can I do for you?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Newkirk, who was still loitering by the door, then back to me with a questioning look.

"Oh, don't worry about him," I replied reassuringly, "He works for me."

"Oh, okay," she inhaled deeply and sighed with relief.

I nearly sighed, myself, as I watched her tight-fitting green dress expand and contract in all the right places.

Her smile quickly faded, to be replaced by a serious expression. "Mr. Hogan, I need your help…someone's trying to kill my husband!"

"What?" I exclaimed, trying to mask my disappointment at her marital status, "That's terrible!"

"Yes, it is!" she replied, her blue eyes growing moist. "Why would anyone want to hurt my Lambikins?" She sniffled, and I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief.

"Please, have a seat," I said, gesturing toward the chair facing my desk as I handed her the handkerchief. She accepted it gratefully and went to sit down; dabbing at her eyes while she did so. I circled around and plopped into my chair, trying to keep my expression sympathetic – and my eyes focused on her face.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" I suggested.

She nodded and blew her nose. "Well, I met my husband overseas; that's where we fell in love and got married." A dreamy smile momentarily appeared on her face; then it was gone. "He belongs to a troupe of entertainers from Europe. They're on tour here in Chicago for the next two weeks."

_Entertainers? Well, that might explain it…_ I nodded and asked, "How do you know someone is trying to kill him?"

"Because of the note," she said, placing her purse on her lap and rifling through it, "I brought it with me, it's in here somewhere… Aha!" She pulled out a crinkled envelope and handed it to me.

As I took the envelope from her outstretched hand, the first thing I noticed on it was the name – Johann Schmidt. "I take it this is your husband's name," I remarked, glancing at her for confirmation.

"It's his stage name, actually," she informed me. "After the war, he wanted to make a fresh start."

"Ah," I nodded in understanding. I opened the envelope and pulled out the note inside. After unfolding the paper, I read the message, which consisted of one line:

_You will die in seven days._

"That's it?" I frowned, turning the paper over just to make sure I wasn't missing something.

"What do you mean, 'That's it'?" she pouted, "What else does it need to say? My Lambikins is in danger! Please, you have to help him!"

She leaned forward, placing her hand on the desk, and I reached over and patted it lightly. "We will, we will," I assured her, "Don't worry, we'll find out who's threatening your Lambi…uh, your husband."

She heaved a sigh, and I found myself envying Lambikins – a lot. "Oh, thank you!" she gushed, "I can't tell you how grateful I am!"

"Ah, yes," I replied, somewhat gruffly. Then I cleared my throat – and my mind – and said, "Well, there is the matter of our fee…"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh yes, of course! I have it right here…" She dug into her purse, and pulled out another envelope; this one much thicker than the last. "A thousand dollars up front, your ad said." She held the envelope out to me, looking at me expectantly.

As I reached for it, I saw Newkirk put his hand to his mouth and clear his throat rather loudly.

I nodded slightly. "Plus two hundred dollars a day, for expenses," I told her, taking a peek inside the envelope.

"That seems a bit high," she said, raising her eyebrow dubiously at me.

"Sorry, but that's our price. Take it or leave it." (Hey, business is business.)

"All right," she agreed, looking less than happy, "But you better find him soon."

"Don't worry, we will," I replied confidently. As she stood up to leave, I rose from my chair. I saw her to the door and held it open for her. She flashed me one last curt smile, and then she was gone.

Newkirk and I stared at her retreating form for a few moments. Then I shut the door and turned to the Englishman, who looked about as dazed as I felt. "You weren't kidding, Peter," I mumbled, "She's quite the looker."

He just nodded at me.

I shook my head to clear it, and said, "Well, we better get busy. Where are the rest of the guys?"

"The rest of the guys?" Newkirk echoed, his face suddenly registering surprise.

"Yes, the rest of the guys," I repeated, somewhat impatiently, "James, Louis, Andrew, you know…"

"Oh, them! Well, seein' as how business has been so slow lately, as it were…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"Peter, where are they?" I demanded.

Newkirk let out a sigh. "They're at the pub across the street."

"What?" I bellowed, "They're off drinking when they're supposed to be working?"

Newkirk frowned. "Doin' what, exactly, Rob? We haven't had a case in weeks!"

"That's no excuse! They could still be doing… Well, they could be working on…" I stopped, realizing he was right. "Oh, never mind; let's just go get 'em."

He tried to hide it, but I know I saw a ghost of a smirk appear briefly on Newkirk's face. I was about to chastise him, when something occurred to me, and I asked instead, "So, how come you're not over there with them?"

"Because someone needs to be here with you; you know, in case somethin' comes up, like with that bird just now."

"And today was your turn," I guessed.

Newkirk nodded sheepishly.

I sighed and shook my head. "I think we're all gonna have a nice, long talk after this case is over."

"Yes, Rob."

"Call me sir."

X X X X X X X X X X 

The guys were exactly where Newkirk said they'd be; sitting in a large corner booth in the back of the bar across the street. Ironically, the name of the place was, "Slackers"; which should have given me a clue right there.

As I approached the table, Newkirk trailing behind me, I could hear spirit-fueled laughter coming from my men, and I inwardly sighed in frustration; wondering how long this had been going on. The laughter continued as I neared where they sat, but quickly subsided when I reached the table. Three pairs of guilty eyes looked up at me, and I folded my arms and scowled; waiting to see who would be first to offer up an excuse.

It turned out to be Carter. "Oh, uh, hey there, Colonel," he stammered, "Um, we were just taking a little break…"

"Yeah, we didn't think you'd mind, sir," Kinch interjected, "You know, since business has been so slow…"

"Oui," LeBeau jumped in, nodding vigorously, "In fact, why don't you join us, mon Colonel? There's plenty of room."

I glanced at the pitcher of beer on the table and the half-filled glasses in front of each of the men; then over my shoulder at Newkirk, who just looked at me and shrugged. I turned back to the table and sighed in resignation. "Scoot over," I said, sliding in next to LeBeau. I noticed Newkirk sit down next to Kinch, who had moved over to make room for him.

After flagging down the waitress and requesting another pitcher and two more glasses, I addressed the men seated around me. "All right, you guys, first things, first. We just got hired by a good-looking dame to find some thug who's threatening to kill her husband. This could get dangerous…" I paused, glancing at each man in turn. "You up for it?"

Four heads nodded at me. "You bet, Colonel!" Carter replied enthusiastically.

"Oui, Colonel, I'm in!" LeBeau exclaimed.

I sighed and inwardly rolled my eyes. "And that's another thing," I said, frowning at them, "You've got to stop calling me Colonel."

Carter's enthusiasm waned. He looked at me sheepishly and muttered, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that, Colonel, uh, I mean, sir. Force of habit, you know..."

"What he said," LeBeau pointed at Carter.

Kinch smirked; then he turned to me, his expression serious. "What do you know about this guy we're looking for?" he asked.

"Not much," I replied, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out the envelope Honey had given me, "Just this note he left for her husband." I handed it to Kinch, who pulled the paper out and read it.

"Hmm, you're right, not much to go on, is it?" Kinch commented as he passed it to Carter.

The waitress appeared with two glasses and a pitcher of beer. After making sure we didn't need anything else, she hurried off to another table. I grabbed the pitcher and poured myself a drink; then passed it to Newkirk, who did the same.

I took a big swig and set down my glass. LeBeau, the last one to see the note, handed it back to me, and as I tucked it into my pocket, he asked, "So, where do you want us to start looking?"

The others began murmuring similar questions.

I held up my hand to silence them. "We can discuss the details when we get back to the office," I replied; then I grinned and picked up my glass. "In the meantime, we might as well finish the beer."

X X X X X X X X X X

Back at the office, I handed out the assignments. I sent Kinch and Carter to talk to the director of the troupe of entertainers, and Newkirk and LeBeau to find out what they could about Johann Schmidt. While they were gone I made some phone calls, asking around to find out if any of our regular informants knew anything about a hit going down next week, but none of them did.

When the fellas returned a few hours later, I could tell by their faces they'd struck out, too.

"The guy in charge of those entertainers was no help at all!" Kinch groused as he plopped into a chair. "All he could tell us was that Johann Schmidt joined the troupe shortly before they left Europe, and he plays a musical instrument."

"Yeah, and he couldn't even tell us which one!" Carter exclaimed, sitting down in the chair next to Kinch. "Boy, he sure doesn't pay much attention to the people he's supposed to be watching over."

"Not a very good boss, is he?" I remarked, shaking my head slightly.

"Nope, he sure isn't," Carter replied; then he eyed me thoughtfully. "Not like you, sir. Boy, you sure could teach him a thing or two about how to be a good boss! I mean, even back in the war, when you were a colonel and we were enlisted men, we still worked for you, kind of like now, and you always took care of us and knew what was going on, and what everyone was doing – "

"Yes, Andrew," I interrupted, trying to sound impatient, but inwardly puffing up with pride, "I think we all know that not everyone can be a great boss like me."

"He said good, not great," I heard Kinch mumble under his breath, and my ego quickly deflated.

With a slight frown on my face, I turned my attention to Newkirk and LeBeau, who were sitting on the opposite side of the room. "What about you two; did you find out anything?"

Newkirk slowly shook his head. "Not much more than what James and Andrew found out. Looks like Mr. Schmidt and his wife have gone into hidin' until we can find the bloke, what's tryin' to kill him."

"Oui, all we could get was a description of him," LeBeau said, pulling out a pad of paper and reading from it aloud, "Tall, brown hair, mustache, wears glasses, and has a big nose." He looked up at me. "That's what the other members of the troupe said, anyway."

"Oh, and he plays the violin," Newkirk added.

LeBeau looked back down at his notes. "They also said he's a quiet man; keeps mostly to himself. No one seems to know much about him."

"Except for his wife," Newkirk smirked, "They all noticed her!"

I grinned wide. "That doesn't surprise me." My smile faded and I let out a sigh. "All right, looks like this case isn't gonna be an easy one. Tomorrow morning we'll hit the streets and start asking questions. We need to find this guy that's after Schmidt A.S.A.P., got it?"

The others nodded.

"Okay, let's blow this pop stand," I said, getting up from my chair. The others stood up, too, and we filed out of the office. Since I was last, I shut the door and locked it; then we all headed for our respective homes to get some shut-eye.

X X X X X X X X X X

One day passed, then two. By the third day I was beginning to get worried. Everywhere we looked; everyone we talked to – we came up empty. No one seemed to know anything about a killer roaming the streets, intent on snuffing out one of the European entertainers. More importantly, no one knew why someone would want to do away with Johann Schmidt in the first place.

Several more days passed, and soon the week was up. We still didn't have a clue; although I had managed to add a giraffe, an elephant, and a flamingo to my paper zoo. I was hoping that – with Schmidt in hiding – the killer wouldn't find him, and miss the deadline. Turned out I was wrong.

We were all in the office when the phone rang; it was Honey on the other line. "Mr. Hogan, come quickly! The man who wants to kill my husband is here! He found us!"

I asked her to give me the address, which I quickly jotted down on a half-formed rhinoceros, and told her we'd be right there. Then I ran out of the office, the other four guys at my heels. We raced to the location, which turned out to be an apartment, and burst through the door; our guns drawn. The scene that met us was what we'd been expecting – two men standing in the middle of the living room facing each other; one of them pointing a pistol at the other.

I stared hard at the perpetrator, whose face was partially shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. He was a shady-looking character, to be sure, but I couldn't shake the feeling there was something familiar about him. Then I glanced at the other fella, and noticed he fit the description of Johann Schmidt. I looked back at the would-be killer and yelled, "Drop your weapon!"

The man growled and turned his head slightly to look at me. My jaw dropped as I recognized him; "Hochstetter! My old nemesis!"

His eyes widened with surprise, and he yelled, "Hogan!" He looked up at the ceiling with a pleading expression, before shouting, "What is this man doing here?"

"I'm here to stop you from killing my client!" I yelled back.

"Hogan, is that really you?" asked my client in a tremulous voice, and I knew instantly who it was.

"Klink! What on Earth are you doing here?" I exclaimed in amazement, "And what the heck did you do to yourself?"

"Oh, this?" Klink reached up and pulled the toupee off his head; then removed his glasses – which also removed his nose and mustache. "It's just my disguise."

I inwardly shook my head. Only Klink could use a novelty nose and glasses as a disguise, and make it work. "So, you're Johann Schmidt?" I said, "Why the name change, and the disguise?"

"I had to get out of Germany," Klink explained as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his monocle, and fitted it over his left eye. "I knew Hochstetter was after me, and it seemed like the only way to save myself; not to mention my wife."

"Yeah, your wife…" I paused, trying to picture her with Klink, "How did you ever land her?"

Klink frowned. "Hogan, you're not the only man who can be charming."

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back some witty retort, when Hochstetter yelled, "That's enough! Hogan, take your men and get out of here right now, or I'll shoot Klink!"

"How do I know you won't shoot him after we leave?" I countered.

Hochstetter's face was turning an alarming shade of red. "If you don't leave, I'll shoot you, too!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Newkirk silently slinking around behind Hochstetter. I knew my best course of action was to distract the former Gestapo major, so I asked, "Why do you want to kill Klink, anyway?"

"Because…" Hochstetter sputtered, "Because he made a fool of me during the war!"

The corners of my mouth turned up and I actually chuckled. "Major, that was me!"

Hochstetter's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. "What do you mean?" he bellowed.

"Klink didn't make a fool out of you; I did," I happily confessed.

I saw veins popping out on Hochstetter's forehead as he screeched; "I knew it! You _were_ Papa Bear! At last I have you –"

He was cut off by Newkirk jumping him from behind. As the Englishman wrestled him to the ground, the gun in Hochstetter's hand went off. The bullet flew past Klink, missing him by mere inches, and embedded itself in the wall.

Klink's eyes popped wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. His face went white as a sheet, and he began to shake uncontrollably. He opened his mouth and began sucking in gulps of air, as though he couldn't breathe. "Huh…huh…" He tried to speak, but that's all he could get out.

The door to the bedroom flew open, and Honey ran into the room. "Lambikins!" she exclaimed, rushing over to Klink. She threw her arms around him and looked at him worriedly. "Are you all right? I heard a gunshot…"

Klink nodded vigorously. "All…right…" he managed to say.

"Oh, dear, you're having one of your attacks again. Here," she guided him over to a large, overstuffed chair, "Sit down, Sweetums, I'll fetch you a glass of water."

As she hurried to the kitchen, every eye in the room watched her leave – including Hochstetter – and I could have sworn I heard a sigh or two coming from the vicinity where the rest of my men were standing. I looked at them and frowned. "Hey, give Peter a hand, will ya?"

LeBeau, Carter and Kinch dutifully walked over and helped Newkirk get Hochstetter to his feet. Then Kinch produced a pair of handcuffs, and slapped them on the former major's wrists.

"How's that for irony?" I announced, looking smugly at Hochstetter. Before he could respond, I glanced at my men and said, "Take him away, boys."

After they left, I turned back to Klink. His color had returned, and he was breathing more normally. "Looks like you're feeling better," I commented.

Klink nodded. "I am now. Thank you, Hogan, for saving my life. I am forever in your debt."

"You are?" I replied, "Well, in that case, I don't suppose you could tell me if Honey has a sister?"

Klink eyed me with a hint of suspicion. "No, she doesn't…why do you want to know?" At that moment, Honey returned with a glass of water, and handed it to Klink.

"Oh, no reason," I replied, my eyes involuntarily following her every move. I forced my gaze back to Klink, cleared my throat and said, "Well, I'll leave you two alone."

I headed for the door, but when I reached it, something occurred to me, and I turned to look at Klink. "Say, how did you get that troupe of entertainers to hire you, anyway? No offense, but you're a terrible violin player."

Klink shrugged. "I got better." He pointed to the corner, where his violin case sat. "I can play for you, if you'd like."

"Uh, no thanks," I responded rather quickly; then I turned and hurried out of the apartment.

When I got outside; a thought popped into my head, and I had to chuckle. That was one case I didn't want opened…not now, not ever!

X X X X X X X X X X

You will die in seven days - Line taken from the movie, The Ring.


	2. The Abominable Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later: The guys get a new case, and a visit from an old 'friend'.

If you’re just tuning in, my name’s Robert E. Hogan, and I run a detective agency out of an office right here in the middle of Chicago. Not by myself, mind you, I’ve got four men working for me; James Kinchloe, Louis LeBeau, Peter Newkirk and Andrew Carter. We were spies together in the war, you see, and what better job for former spies, than private investigators? 

We've solved our share of cases, but the one we had six months ago really took the cake.* It wasn't the biggest one we've handled, before or since, but it sure was the strangest – that is, until last week.

I was sitting in my office, doing paperwork as usual (hey, making an origami tiger counts as paperwork), when the phone rang. I waited to see if one of the guys in the other room would pick it up – after all, that's what they get paid for – but no such luck. Frowning, I picked up the phone and said, "Hogan's Detective Agency, Hogan speaking."

There was no answer on the other end. I repeated myself, but still heard nothing. After a moment there was a click and the line went dead.

 _Now, what was that all about?_ I wondered as I stood up and walked over to my office door. When I got there, I grabbed the knob and opened it, frowning again at the sight that met me in the reception room.

The guys were there, all four of them, but they appeared to be in the middle of an argument, which would explain why none of them had answered the phone.

I let out a sigh and cleared my throat loudly to get their attention. The arguing abruptly stopped, and four guilty faces turned in my direction. I folded my arms across my chest and asked crossly, "Didn't any of you hear the phone?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Kinch answered, "And I was just about to pick it up –"

"No, he wasn't," LeBeau interrupted, "He was trying to sneak out the door, I saw him!"

"Because I was getting tired of listening to you and Peter arguing," Kinch replied. He looked at me and cracked a grin.

I took the bait. "All right, what were you two arguing about?" I asked, glancing between Newkirk and LeBeau.

"I was doing my impression of a famous actor, you know, to see if anyone could guess who it was, and Pierre kept guessing wrong on purpose," LeBeau explained to me, tossing his hands up in the air.

"I was not, Louis," Newkirk replied with irritation, "You're just bad at doing impressions, is all."

"Oh, yeah? Well, who is this?" LeBeau drew his lips back and forth from his teeth several times. He raised his hands, held up his thumbs and index fingers like guns and, shifting from one foot to the other, said, "You dirty rat…"

"Louis, I still don't know who that's supposed to be," Newkirk huffed.

"It's James Cagney!" LeBeau shouted angrily.

Newkirk snorted, "More like Boris Karloff."

"Boris Karloff?" Carter now joined in, "No way, Peter, Louis didn't sound anything like him. Hey," his eyes brightened, "I bet I can do an impression of Cagney, watch…" Carter made the same movements LeBeau had earlier, then said, "Listen, see? This town ain't big enough for the two of us, see? N'yeah…"

LeBeau shook his head. "That's not Cagney."

"Yes it is!" Carter nodded.

"Oh, you're both 'round the bend! I'll show you how to do an impression." Newkirk moved his lips back and forth a few times; then he bent his elbow, lifting his hand halfway up and said, "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

LeBeau looked skeptical. "Who's that supposed to be?"

Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "What, are you daft? Don't you know Humphrey Bogart when you hear him?"

"Sounds more like my grandmother," LeBeau muttered.

Newkirk's eyes narrowed, "Why, you…"

"Fellas," I hollered at them, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Uh, not really, Colonel," Carter shrugged.

I sighed and inwardly shook my head. "What did I say about calling me, 'Colonel'?"

Carter's eyes widened slightly, "Oh, right, Colonel, I mean, sir, I mean, sorry, sir."

It was all I could do to keep from smacking my forehead. "Well, at least you're all here, and not at the pub across the street."

"You mean, 'Slackers'?" Kinch said, "They're closed today."

I rolled my eyes. _Well, that explains it._ "Look, the next time the phone rings, one of you better answer…"

I was interrupted by a knock at the door. All heads turned to look at it, but no one moved. "Well, somebody answer it!" I shouted at last.

Kinch, who was closest to the door, stepped over and opened it, revealing a blonde woman dressed in a fur coat, her arm raised as if she were about to knock again. I recognized her immediately, and my blood ran cold.

Marya! Oh, this couldn't be good. I knew trouble when I saw it, and Marya's kind came with a capital 'T'.

She glanced around the room, caught sight of me, and smiled. "Hogan, darling, I've missed you!" She hurried over to me, throwing her arm around my neck. "It's been so long… Have you missed me?"

The shock of seeing her took me aback. After a moment I found my voice and asked, "Marya, what are you doing here?"

"What, no kiss?" She pouted, "Aren't you delighted to see me?"

"I am," LeBeau sidled up next to her, a huge smile on his face.

Marya turned her head to look at him and smiled back. "Ah, my small one! I have missed you, too." She cupped LeBeau's chin with her free hand and puckered her lips at him.

I frowned at LeBeau and reached up to remove Marya's arm from around my neck. "You still haven't answered my question," I said to her.

Marya looked hurt for a moment; then she grinned slyly and tossed me a wink. "Oh, I get it… Business before pleasure, da?"

"Just business," I stated, crossing my arms.

Marya tossed up her hands. "Okay, Hogan, you win. I'm here to hire you and your men to help me with a little problem."

My eyebrow shot up. "You want to hire us?"

Marya nodded. "Da, you see, I came to U.S.A. only a month ago, and right away I started receiving letters from a secret admirer..." her voice trailed off as she opened her purse, reached in and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to me and I opened it, removing the piece of paper inside.

I scanned the letter briefly, my stomach turning at the content; it was a gushy love letter complete with little drawn hearts along the side and a few 'X's and 'O's scribbled at the bottom.

I looked at Marya with sympathy. "I take it you want us to find this guy and arrest him for you?"

Marya grinned at me, "No, Hogan, I found him myself." Her face grew serious. "At least, I think it was him," she shrugged. "I received a call last night from a man who wanted to meet me in person, so naturally I assumed it was my secret admirer. But when I got there, he grabbed me and tried to force me into his car."

"Oh, mon amour, what did you do?" LeBeau reached out and took her hand, cradling it between his own.

"What else could I do? I shot him."

Now both my eyebrows quickly rose. "You shot him?"

"Da, with this…" She reached into her purse again and pulled out a large pistol.

I heard a few low whistles coming from the other guys. "Uh, put that thing away," I said, laying my hand over hers, the one that was holding the gun, and pushing it towards her purse.

Marya smirked at me. "What, this old thing?" She turned the gun in her hand, "It was invented by a little old lady from Leningrad." She dropped it back in her purse, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Anyway," Marya continued, "I didn't think I hurt him too badly, but this morning I found out he's dead. I didn't know what else to do, so I came to you, Hogan." She smiled and reached up, caressing my cheek.

"Me?" I asked while removing her hand, "Why didn't you go to the police?"

She shrugged, "Because I don't want to get into trouble."

I frowned at her. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Isn't it obvious, Hogan, darling? I want you to find out why that man was trying to kidnap me."

I stared at her in disbelief. "How am I supposed to do that if he's dead?"

"That's your problem." Marya smiled slyly and reached into her purse again, pulling out a fat envelope. "I can pay you handsomely, Hogan," she said, passing me the envelope.

I opened it and looked inside, my chin dropping in surprise – I had to admit, she wasn't kidding. I raised my hand and coughed into my fist, trying to cover my reaction at seeing what looked like five bundles of 20 crisp $100 bills, each. "Well, I'll have to ask my men..." I paused, looking around the room.

Kinch, Carter and Newkirk were vigorously shaking their heads 'no', while LeBeau was nodding with a big smile on his face. I glanced down at the envelope and back up at LeBeau's pleading eyes and, against my better judgement, found myself saying, "All right, we'll help you."

"Marvelous!" Marya wrapped her arms around my neck and began peppering my face with kisses. After a moment (or was it several) I finally reached up and pulled her arms away.

"So, just how are we supposed to find this dead man?" I asked her.

"Oh," she reached into her purse again (how much stuff did she have in there, anyway?) and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Here is the address where you can find him." She handed the paper to me.

I looked at her and frowned, "You know where the body is?"

Marya just shrugged.

I let out a sigh. "Okay, we'll check it out."

"Thank you, Hogan, darling," Marya hugged me again. Then she turned to leave, blowing a kiss at LeBeau who caught it and held it against his chest.

"Hey, how can we reach you?" I called out when she got to the door.

"Don't worry about that, Hogan, I can reach you… I have your number." She raised her hand and waved her fingers at me, then left.

As I watched her leave, a feeling of impending doom came over me, and I slowly shook my head.

_Of all the detective agencies in all of Chicago, why did she have to come to mine?_

X X X X X X X X X X

No sooner had Marya gone, than my men all started talking at once:

"Sir, have you gone crackers? You actually want us to help her?"

"Yeah, Colonel – uh, sir, after all the trouble she caused us during the war?"

"I'm with Peter and Andrew, sir, that dame's nothing but trouble."

"Don't talk about Marya that way! She's pure as the driven snow!"

"Okay, hold it!" I held up my hand and glared at my men. They stopped arguing and looked at me. "Look, I've already agreed to help her, so that's what we're gonna do."

They all hung their heads, and I never heard a sorrier chorus of, "Yes, sir's," come out of their mouths.

I let out a sigh. "Don't worry, we'll be careful," I said, trying to reassure them (and myself). "All right, first things first; we need to check out this dead body," I studied my men, "I'll go, but I need one of you guys to come with me."

The men's eyes lowered; all of them suddenly becoming fascinated with their shoes.

"Oh, c'mon, fellas, why do we always have to do this the hard way?" I folded my arms and waited, knowing one of them would slip up soon.

Turned out it was Newkirk. He glanced up at me and before he could open his mouth, I smiled and said, "Peter! Thanks for volunteering."

His eyes grew wide. "Sir, I wasn't –"

"You are now," I informed him, cutting him off.

The others grinned at him and he heaved a sigh. Yes, sir," Newkirk gave in.

"All right, let's go." I headed for the door, gesturing to Newkirk to follow.

X X X X X X X X X X

We pulled up to the address 20 minutes later. It belonged to a large, nondescript grey building. I parked the car and we went around to the side entrance. There, above the door, was a sign with big letters:

Harry's Morgue – You Stab 'em, We Slab 'em.

"Charming," Newkirk commented.

We walked inside and approached the desk at the end of the hall. I flashed my ID at the man sitting behind it and said, "We're investigating a possible murder. We'd like to see the guy who was brought in here this morning."

The man shrugged and stood up. He led us into a large tiled room with a long stainless steel table in the middle and refrigerated cubicles along one wall. He walked over and, after opening the door to one of the cubicles, pulled out the sliding table that had a sheet-covered figure lying on it. "Just put him back when you're done," he said and left the room.

Newkirk and I glanced at each other; then back at the figure on the table. I reached up and pulled back the sheet, noting that the man underneath was just your average Joe; about as nondescript as the building we were in. Well, there was only one way I knew of to try to identify him.

"Peter, check his pockets."

" _You_ check his pockets," Newkirk shot back.

"Fine," I replied, frowning at him. I slid my hand into the stiff's right pants pocket, but it was empty. "C'mon, Peter, check the other one, will ya?" I asked, since Newkirk was standing on the other side of the table.

Newkirk made a face and slid his hand into the pocket. He pulled out a card and handed it to me. "That's all, what was in there."

I looked at it; turning it over in my hand. It had a name on one side: The Abominable Snowman.

"Must be some kind of calling card," I guessed.

"Abominable Snowman?" Newkirk frowned, "What kind of a calling card is that?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, but at least it's a lead."

"Some lead," Newkirk snorted.

"You're not helping, Peter," I frowned at him again. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Now you're talkin', Rob," Newkirk agreed.

I covered the stiff with the sheet and rolled the table back into the cubicle. Then I shut the door and headed out, Newkirk at my heels. We got outside and were walking towards the car, when a shot rang out and I felt something wiz past my ear.

"Blimey, someone's shootin' at us!" Newkirk shouted and grabbed my arm as we dove for cover, just as another bullet flew over my head.

Newkirk and I pulled our guns out and peered around the garbage cans we were hiding behind. "Did you see where the shots came from?" I whispered at him.

"No, sir," he answered. We huddled there for a few moments, and then we heard footsteps ahead of us, running in the opposite direction. We jumped up and ran after them, but whoever it was gave us the slip.

"Sir, I'll bet that was The Abominable Snowman," Newkirk remarked.

I nodded, "I bet you're right." I tapped his arm with the back of my hand. "C'mon, let's get back to the office," I said to him and headed for the car.

By the time we got there, it was getting late. I filled the other guys in on what happened, and then told them to call it a night; we could pick it up again first thing in the morning.

X X X X X X X X X X

The next day I arrived at the office bright and early, pleasantly surprised to see Newkirk, Kinch, LeBeau and Carter already there, sorting through stacks of files, apparently working on the case.

Kinch was just hanging up the phone when I entered. He looked up at me and said, "I've got a lead, sir. There's an old warehouse on the outskirts of town that was rented recently by someone going by the name of, 'The Abominable Snowman.'"

I smiled at him. "Now we're getting somewhere," I said. "Okay, fellas, I think the first order of the day is to go check out that warehouse."

The men nodded in agreement.

"Make sure you've got your guns; this could get ugly," I added.

When we were ready, we left the office and piled into my car. It took about 40 minutes to get to the warehouse, which looked deserted as I drove up. I parked the car and we got out, moving quickly and quietly towards the nearest door. We slipped inside, our eyes darting around the large, open space.

The giant room was relatively empty, except for several stacks of boxes lined up against both walls. We crept along one of the walls, looking for any sign of trouble. My curiosity got the better of me, and I turned around and peeked into one of the boxes. Smiling, I reached in and pulled out a bottle of 12-year-old single malt scotch.

The men saw what I was holding in my hand, and they all let out a sigh. Suddenly a shot rang out, and a bullet passed right through the bottle, shattering the glass and spilling the contents all over the floor.

"Take cover!" I yelled, diving behind a stack of boxes as my men did the same. More shots were fired, and we drew our guns and aimed them at the pile of boxes across the room where the source of the gunfire was coming from, which – judging by the sound of it – appeared to be concealing a lone assailant.

We opened fire, and a volley of shots flew back and forth, glass breaking everywhere as the bullets slammed into the boxes, destroying more bottles of scotch. "Could you possibly try not to hit every single one?" I whined as more and more of the boxes began to spring leaks; spilling out the precious liquid inside. Just then a couple of shots from our assailant went high, the bullets pulverizing a box directly above Newkirk; sending the scotch cascading down and drenching the Englishman's shirt.

Silence descended as we all stopped to reload. I took the opportunity to yell across the room, "Give yourself up, Abominable Snowman, we've got you outnumbered!"

"You'll never take me again, Hogan!" came the reply, and I instantly recognized the voice.

"Hochstetter, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me, Hogan!" Hochstetter yelled back.

My eyes widened with surprise. "But, we arrested you six months ago!"

"Bah! Do you really think a mere jail can keep me from seeking my revenge on you?"

I saw Hochstetter's head appear above one of the boxes he was hiding behind, and he had his gun pointed in my direction. I raised my own gun just as he pulled the trigger, but all I heard were a series of clicks; it was empty.

I signaled to my men, and we stood up and rushed him. Hochstetter threw his gun down and made a break for it, but we were too fast and caught him before he could get to the door. Kinch tackled him, knocking him off his feet, while Carter and Newkirk moved around to the front and pointed their guns at his head.

I tossed a set of handcuffs at Kinch, and he slapped them around Hochstetter's wrists. Then Kinch and Newkirk hauled the ex-gestapo major to his feet, turning him to face me while holding onto his arms.

I shook my head and clucked my tongue at his angry red face, "How many times do we have to arrest you, Major?"

"Bah!" Hochstetter spat.

"How did you get out of the pokey, anyway?" I asked.

"Why should I tell you?" Hochstetter growled.

A thought occurred to me and I frowned. "It was you who wanted to kidnap Marya, wasn't it? That other guy was just working for you."

Hochstetter nodded, "Ja, he was my partner, but he made too many mistakes, so I had to get rid of him."

"I knew it!" LeBeau exclaimed, standing next to me, "I knew Marya didn't kill him!"

I tossed LeBeau a sideways glance; then turned my attention back to Hochstetter. "Why did you want to kidnap her?"

"Because I wanted to set a trap for you," Hochstetter sneered, "I knew you would try to save her."

"What makes you think I'd want to save her?"

Hochstetter scowled, "You don't fool me, Hogan, I know there is something going on between you two."

I grinned wide, "Major, there's nothing going on between me and Marya."

"But, I saw you two during the war…"

"What you saw was her causing me nothing but trouble," I said, "Believe me, I have no interest in Marya."

"Does that mean she is all mine?" LeBeau asked hopefully.

I looked at him and smirked, "Louis, if you can handle her, you're welcome to her." Then I glanced at my men and said, "C'mon, let's take the Major here back to jail, and this time he's going to stay there."

As we headed out of the warehouse, I stepped over to one of the undamaged boxes and snagged a couple bottles of scotch. The rest of the guys raised their eyebrows at me, and I shrugged, "Just taking a souvenir."

"You don't need those," Newkirk piped up, "You can have my ruddy shirt; I think I'm wearin' two or three bottles' worth!"

"Uh, no thanks, Peter, you can keep it," I grinned.

We got to the car and piled in. As I drove to the police station, we had to crack the car windows to keep the fumes coming off Newkirk's shirt from overpowering us. When we got to the station, everyone scrambled out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh air. I put Kinch and Carter in charge of Hochstetter, but before they led him away, I had one more question for him.

"So, why, 'The Abominable Snowman?"

Hochstetter's eyes narrowed, "I never forgot what you did to me with that snowman back at Stalag 13." **

I grinned at him, "Major, you did that to yourself."

"Bah!" he shouted, his face turning red.

I stepped back and glanced at Carter and Kinch. "Take him away, boys."

X X X X X X X X X X

I drove back to the office with Newkirk and LeBeau, planning to return to the station and pick up Kinch and Carter when they were through booking Hochstetter. When we arrived, I sent LeBeau across the street to buy a new shirt for Newkirk, and led the hapless Englishman to my office, where he could get changed.

I had just shut the door to my office when the phone rang. I picked it up in the reception room with my usual greeting, but no one answered. Puzzled, I hung up and leaned against Kinch's desk.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the outer door, and I called out, "Come in." The door opened and there was Marya, smiling wide.

She rushed over to me and threw her arms around my neck. "Hogan, darling! I just heard… You caught the man who wanted to kidnap me!"

"How do you know about that?" I said, reaching up to pull her arms away.

Marya shrugged. "I have my ways."

A thought occurred to me, "Was that you on the phone a few minutes ago?"

"Of course, how else would I know you were here?"

I frowned, "You could have said something when I answered."

"What, and spoil my entrance?" She smiled.

LeBeau walked in with a bag in his hand. "Marya, mon amour," he grinned at her as he passed the bag containing the new shirt to me. He took Marya's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly.

"Ah, my small one," she purred, "How handsome you look today."

LeBeau beamed at her.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone," I said and started to head for my office.

"Wait, Hogan, what's your hurry?" She batted her eyelashes at me.

"I've got work to do," I replied, "But I'm sure Louis here would love to talk to you."

Marya looked at her watch. "Oh, I would love to, but I didn't realize how late it was. I must be going."

LeBeau looked disappointed, but then his face perked up. "Can I walk you to your car?"

"How sweet of you," Marya replied, "But I didn't drive here, I took a cab."

"Oh, in that case, let me hail a cab for you."

Marya smiled, "How can I say no?"

I watched them leave; then I walked over to my office and opened the door, noting as I entered that the room smelled like a distillery. Newkirk's scotch-laden shirt was balled up in the waste basket, and he was standing in front of my desk with his arms crossed, rubbing his arms like he was cold. "I see you've managed to get your shirt off," I said, handing him the bag.

The door suddenly flew open, and Marya stepped inside. "Oh, Hogan, darling, I forgot to ask if you would like to join me for a drink…" She stopped; her voice trailing off as she sniffed the air. "I see you've started without me." Then she caught sight of Newkirk standing next to me, bare-chested, and her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, Hogan, I'm so sorry, I didn't know…" Her gaze flicked back and forth between us as she started backing out of the room. "No wonder you never returned my advances."

I glanced at Newkirk, whose eyes were slowly widening as it dawned on him what she was implying. Then I looked back at Marya and, thinking quickly, I walked over to her and grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way," I said as I began to usher her out of the room. On the way out, I tossed a quick apologetic glance behind me at Newkirk, who was staring back at me, his jaw now practically on the floor.

As I walked her to the outer door, she turned to me and said, "Don't worry, Hogan, your secret's safe with me. I'll never tell."

I nodded at her, looking grateful. "Thanks, I appreciate your discretion."

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek lightly. "Goodbye, Hogan," she said, and walked out the door.

I had barely shut it behind her when Newkirk came storming out of my office, buttoning up the new shirt he was now wearing. He stopped in front of me and glared at me with anger in his eyes. "Sir, why? Why do you hate me?"

I looked at him with surprise. "I don't hate you, Peter."

Newkirk pointed to the door that Marya had just exited. "But you let her believe that I… I mean, that we…"

I nodded. "Yeah, but look at it this way, I think I finally got rid of her for good!"

I could tell Newkirk wasn't buying it. "Cor, that's it!" he shouted, "Sir, consider this my resignation… I quit!"

I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "Aw, c'mon Peter, don't do that, I'll make it up to you." I pulled out one of the bundles of $100 bills from my pocket and handed it to him.

Newkirk snatched it from my hand and looked at it, running his thumb across the edge of the bills; then he nodded and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. "All right, I'll stay," he said, now smirking at me, "But, just so you remember, Rob; I may be easy, but I'm not cheap."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I smiled.

LeBeau returned just then and, feeling generous, I said, "C'mon, let's go pick up Kinch and Carter, and grab a beer at the pub; my treat."

"Now you're talkin, sir!" Newkirk replied.

"Oui, that's a great idea!" LeBeau nodded. He walked over to grab his jacket, and as he lifted it from the coat stand I saw an envelope fall out of the pocket. He must not have noticed, because he left it there and returned to where Newkirk and I were waiting.

"Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get something from my office," I said, "I'll meet you at the car."

When they'd gone, I walked over and picked up the envelope. It was open, and there was a letter inside. My curiosity got the better of me and I pulled it out and quickly scanned through it. My eyebrows shot up as I realized it was another horrible love letter, just like the one Marya had shown me. I turned the envelope over and, sure enough, it was addressed to Marya. I smacked my forehead for real this time, then stuffed the letter back into the envelope and stormed out of the office, hollering one word; "LeBeau!"

I knew I should have grabbed a whole case of that scotch.

X X X X X X X X X X 

* Referring to, "Hogan, PI", the first chapter.

** "Everybody Loves a Snowman", season 3.


End file.
